


In the Absence of Angels

by Cinis



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: F/F, and olivia is a troll, thalia is responsible, the crack pairing you didn't know you needed, trollivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinis/pseuds/Cinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the apocalypse, Thalia attempts to rebuild the world. It would be far easier if Olivia weren't so insistent on having her over for tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Olivia Makes an Invitation and Thalia Promptly Forgets

In the steep pitch of battle, Thalia couldn’t spare the attention to watch the wrongness in the sky twist and squeeze and slide up and away into the moon.

Its absence was felt though, immediately and with great effect. Between breaths, between heartbeats, as her sword reached the end of its path and she turned to swing again – the relentless madness that had pushed against her head, her mind, from every angle, had been trying to squeeze into her by stabbing into her ears, shoving up her nostrils to drip thickly down her throat, squirming along her eyes into the backs of her eye sockets, held at bay only by the grace of Traft – it was gone.

At once, the momentum of the battle pivoted. What humans, werewolves, and vampires remained were now pushing the horrors back. Sluggish tentacles were cut down by swift silver-edged steel. Step by step, Thalia advanced and so too did her cathars. Sword in one hand and spear of Avacyn in the other, geist in her heart and angel above her, Thalia took back Thraben.

Quite inspirational, really.

Across the battlefield, Olivia Voldaren, newly minted Lord of Innistrad, was impressed. Hovering some distance above the melee, she let her ichor-slicked sword rest on an armor plated shoulder. The sword was well-made, powerful, evil, black like Olivia’s heart. She made a mental note to thank Sorin for it if she ever saw him again.

Down below, Thalia was engaged in shouting eloquently at her survivors.

At some point, the woman had sprouted wings.

If that was the quality of cathars these days, perhaps, just perhaps, Olivia should venture out more often.

Something to ruminate on at a later date.

For the time being though, she had a few loose ends to tie up.

With a thought, Olivia descended towards the ruined courtyard where the humans were massed. Her vampires, who had fared far better in the apocalypse than their mortal snacks, were crowded at the edge of the yard. They’d worked very hard and they were very hungry. But Olivia had made a deal and even though everyone knew the terms of the deal, the Voldaren knew better than to move without her say-so.

And she did not give the say-so.

As Olivia drifted down, Thalia noticed the movement and looked up. She’d been speaking to her remaining cathars, but the words stilled in her throat.

Olivia was smiling and showing far too many teeth for it to be anything but intentionally disturbing. Thalia tightened her grip on her weapons but didn’t raise them. What had been a purely theoretical problem some hours ago was perhaps about to become a very real disaster. Even with the geists infusing them with strength, her cathars didn’t stand a chance against the vampires ringing the yard, whose numbers seemed to grow with every passing moment as more and more converged from the distant edges of the city-turned-battlefield. If it came to a fight, the humans would fight well and then die. Hopefully in battle.

Olivia lifted her sword.

Thalia tensed.

But instead of using her blade to order a charge, Olivia merely held it out in front of her, as if she were examining it for the first time. She reached out with a gauntleted finger, running it along the length of the blade, coating it in purple-grey ichor. Then she raised her finger, dripping with gore, up to her lips and stuck it in her mouth.

Under different circumstances, Thalia might have puked.

Under the current circumstances, she wanted to puke but didn’t.

She’d seen quite a few vampires feeding on the monstrous abominations they fought over the course of the battle. Seeing it again, in sickening slow motion, was unpleasant but not as horrific as it might have been just a few short days ago.

Olivia made a face that looked something like puzzlement.

Had the ichor tasted good? Bad? Would the vampire die of food poisoning?

Thalia didn’t actually want to know.

Olivia shouldered her sword once more and floated slightly closer. “Well met, Heir of Saint Traft,” the vampire said. They were close enough that she could be heard quite clearly, but not so close as to provoke anything.

Thalia’s throat was dry from a day spent fighting for her life and shouting for her cathars to continue on as well. The air around her was thick with the stone dust of a recently ruined city. When she swallowed to wet her throat, it hardly helped at all. Her voice came out far weaker than she would have liked. “Lady Voldaren,” she said.

“It has been a pleasure,” Olivia announced.

Tightly wound already, Thalia tensed further. Around her, her fellows did the same. In the back of her head, the cold fire that was Saint Traft began to spread again throughout her body. Surely this was where Olivia would announce the truce was at an end and the vampires would descend upon them.

“I do hope you’ll come calling,” she continued. “Lurenbraum can get so positively boring sometimes.” Hovering in the air, Olivia pivoted, her flamboyant red and crimson skirt swishing about her. Floating off, she called out, “Come along, children. We’re going home now.”

Thalia watched in weary astonishment as her potential very real disaster evaporated, Voldaren vampires clanking off to dutifully follow their progenitor back whence they’d come.

A scant five minutes later she’d already forgotten Olivia’s request, letting it drift out of her mind as having been nothing more than a passing remark, a politeness.

There were far more important things demanding her attention. The apocalypse had come and gone and it was time to pick up the pieces.

Of course, Thalia would later come to understand her lapse to have been truly unfortunate.


	2. In Which Olivia Makes Another Invitation and Thalia Takes Longer To Forget

In the days after the battle, Thalia and her cathars took up residence in Forgetown, the small city at the southern end of the Thraben mesa above the Lake of Herons.

The capital was lost.

All of the inhabitants were dead, or worse. Thankfully, the worse inhabitants had become largely inert following the disappearance of the wrongness in the sky. They now sat in the ruined buildings, barely moving even to defend themselves from the regular purges that Thalia and her commanders led.

Forgetown, being smaller than the old capital, had been relatively straightforward to clear of abominations. Many of its buildings had remained intact and, most important, its food stores were almost untouched. There had been some discussion of abandoning the mesa altogether and retreating to southern Gavony or even to Kessig – Nephalia was lost completely and Stensia was… never an option. In the end though, Thalia had decided that they would stay put and everyone else listened.

What survivors there were gravitated towards the ruins of Thraben, many of them coming from far enough away and having heard too little news to realize that the capital was a ruin. Thalia had patrols out on the major roads to find such survivors and bring them in. If they left the area, all those survivors would be lost. Humanity couldn’t afford that.

And maybe, just maybe, in the back of Thalia’s mind, though not the same spot where Traft lived, she hoped that one day they could reclaim her city.

The first reminder of Olivia’s invitation came innocuously enough.

The vampire messenger, captured by the guards stationed at Forgetown, was brought to Thalia out in the plain just south of Thraben as she returned from an unfruitful expedition into the city. That they’d only found nothing to slay was a good sign, but that they’d been unable to scavenge any supplies frustrated Thalia and left her in a poor mood.

That the vampire before her seemed to be utterly indifferent to her poor mood irritated her further.

The willowy man managed to look down his nose at her even though Thalia was on mounted on gryffback and thus several heads taller than him.

A sign of dark magic for sure.

He was flanked by three guards, more than the town could spare and a sign of how uncomfortable Grete must have been not simply killing the vampire on the spot.

“You are Thalia, I presume,” the vampire said. He was wearing one of the most impractical outfits that Thalia had ever seen. Though the vampires of Innistrad were very much alive, they were often compared to the dead because of their pallor and their affinity for the cold. To that list, Thalia now added a lack of breathing. There was simply no way the man’s black steel and lace corset could allow anything but the shallowest of gasps.

Though petulant silence was sorely tempting, Thalia replied, “I am.”

“My lady Olivia Voldaren, Lord of Innistrad-

One of the guards standing next to the vampire snorted.

The vampire glared and if looks could kill – well, Thalia was glad that most of the time they couldn’t.

“Lord of Innistrad,” the vampire repeated, “Would like to cordially invite you to the Lurenbraum Estate for tea, at a time of your choosing.” He finished his statement with a dramatic hand flourish, doubtless intended to show off how he was wearing a large gold ring on every single one of his fingers.

Traft’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming.

It was almost as if he didn’t trust Thalia to know a trap when one flounced up to her wrapped in copious amounts of black and red lace.

The cold fire in the back of Thalia’s head pushed out, filling her body. Her vision lightened and that was how she knew she was glowing. She felt lighter too. The wings had probably come out. Following the battle, Traft had become rather fond of that trick.

Thalia’s guards had seen the lightshow before and were nonplussed. The vampire also didn’t so much as bat an eye. Maybe he’d been at Thraben too. “When can she expect you?” he asked.

When Thalia spoke, her voice resonated with the power of the holy geist. “We do not consort with vampires.” With her legs, she nudged her gryff forward. The day was drawing to a close and she was late for a meeting with Sigarda. 

“You’re not going to come for tea?” the vampire asked. His tone was incredulous. It was almost as if he hadn’t known the only possible answer was no.

“No tea,” Thalia confirmed. As her gryff broke into a canter and then flight, somewhere behind her she heard the sounds of a rather distressed vampire wailing something about no one saying no to Olivia.

Well. Thalia said no to Olivia.

And that, she assumed, was that. Sigarda was waiting and then she had to draw up latrine duty assignments for the week. 

The second vampire arrived six days later and was significantly less self-confident than the first.

The guards brought her into Thalia’s office, where the cathar-general turned governor was trying to sort out which local farms hadn’t been turned out for supplies yet and which fields might be still be harvestable. Winter was coming.

When Thalia looked up from her maps, she did a double-take. Stensian vampires were normally pale on account of the valleys not getting much sun, but the vampire before her looked extra gesit-like. Before Thalia had a chance to say anything, the vampire was already speaking.

“My lady Olivia Voldaren, lady of the Lurenbraum, Lord of Innistrad would really like you to come for tea,” the vampire squeaked. She held out a small black box she’d been carrying. “And she asked me to give you a gift.”

Thalia scrutinized the box. She didn’t see any telltale trap runes, runes that might cause all sorts of nastiness should she touch it. But that didn’t mean it was safe. One query to Traft later and the geist’s cold fire was racing down her arm and into her hand as she reached out to take the offering.

Nothing exploded.

A good sign if ever there was one.

Carefully, Thalia opened the box.

Inside was a severed finger wearing an incredibly gaudy gold ring.

She slammed the box shut, but it was too late. Traft saw everything she saw. In an instant, she was glowing and winged. The force of the wings shooting out of her back knocked all the papers on her desk down onto the floor. Again. Thalia made a mental note – a note to Traft – that they really needed to have a discussion about when and where it was appropriate to commence with his angel impersonation.

Thalia took a deep breath. She’d recognized the ring. “That was the finger of the last messenger she sent,” she announced.

With that, Traft settled down immensely, although Thalia continued to glow.

The incredibly pale vampire nodded. “The rest of the hand didn’t fit.” She seemed to be shrinking as she stood. “And Olivia says severed heads went out of fashion when Edgar Markov kicked it… when she kicked Edgar Markov… in the shin…”

Thalia frowned.

She almost felt bad sending the vampire back with a “no” for an answer.

Almost.

The third vampire messenger was very insistent.

He was very insistent that he be allowed to hide with Thalia and her cathars instead of going back to Lurenbraum with the bad news.

The answer to that, was, of course, also “no.”

Thalia was busy. She had work to do. She was responsible. She was not going to traipse off to Stensia and certain death for tea. And so, Thalia was getting very good at saying no to vampires.

This was a skill that, unbeknownst to her, would become vitally important in her near future.

It was also a skill that was beginning to irk the one, the only, the great Lord of Innistrad, Olivia Voldaren.

“Who doesn’t like tea parties?” Olivia asked no one in particular. Her eyes lighted upon one of her attendants who was standing a little too close for safety. “Do you like tea parties?” she asked.

Sensing a trap, the vampire stalled by clearing his throat several times.

An effective tactic.

“I like tea parties,” Olivia announced. “Someone get me a carriage!”


	3. Werewolves Would Be Better With Rockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk i wanted this to keep being funny but it suddenly wants to be a real fic and the mixed result is probably a shitty real fic and a shitty crack fic :(

Olivia’s carriage came to a clattering stop at the edge of the forest clearing.

The sky was darkly overcast to the point of threatening storm, there was a nip in the air, and the howls of dying werewolves made for an excellent string quartet stand-in.

It was a wonderful day for a tea party.

As Olivia floated out of her carriage and into the pleasant glade, her lineage scampered about laying down checkered picnic clothes, setting up sunshades, and arranging a table, chairs, and fine porcelain tea set.

About twenty feet away, Thalia and her cathars fought for their lives. Silver-edged steel bit into thick sinew and claws ripped open chainmail and ribcage together. A scouting foray too near the encroaching Kessig border had turned into a bloodbath.

Thalia threw herself to the side as a werewolf, its body twisted by Emrakul’s influence, charged towards her. She tried to pivot to reengage, but her foot slipped on the gore-slicked grass. She hit the ground hard. In a bare instant, the monster was on her.

Saint Traft’s power coursing through her veins was a sensation Thalia was becoming accustomed to.

Saint Traft’s power exploding out of her in a nova of white-blue fire was probably never going to be comfortable.

On the sidelines, Olivia watched the tentacled werewolf do its best imitation of a vampire as it flew across the entire length of the clearing, thrown by the explosion. Olivia hummed to herself. Flying werewolves seemed like wonderful sport. Maybe what Lurenbraum needed more than super high thread count silk sheets was a row of catapults on top of the outer wall…

As if she heard the quiet hum, Thalia whipped her head around to stare at Olivia with glowing eyes that leaked white fire flecked with blue. Her mouth was half open, her teeth were barred in a snarl. Fresh blood of twisted werewolves soaked her surcoat, dying it a vivid reddish-blue.

Even at a distance of twenty feet, Thalia smelled delicious.

Olivia waved. “Don’t mind me,” she called out. “I’m just enjoying the show!”

With a violent force, Thalia turned her head back towards the battle at hand. She let out a wordless shout and threw herself back into the melee, coming to the aid of one of her cathars who had been on the brink of being beheaded by a particularly large corrupted werewolf.

All around, the battle raged.

The situation was grim.

Victims of an ambush, the cathars were slowly losing against the howlpack. Casualties had been heavy in the initial chaos and they were now clearly outnumbered and outmatched.

Thalia let out another shout, calling for a rally, but there was little left to rally. Moment by moment, the werewolves pushed the cathars back, herding them into a tiny circle, surrounded by monstrous mutated beasts.

The cathars were fighting for their lives, but they weren’t fighting hard enough.

Thalia focused on the feeling of Traft’s fire in her veins. She thought about grabbing that fire and pulling, drawing more and more from the Saint’s geist until it felt like her skin was too small to hold it all. She thought about her sword-arm moving faster than it ever had before, with enough force to split a wolf from crown to tail.

She thought about pushing herself harder than she ever had before and she fought on. 

A falling feather, buffeted by the turbulent air, was the first sign of salvation.

Sigarda hit the werewolves like a ton of bricks.

As she scythed through the pack, Saint Traft’s smug voice floated through Thalia’s mind.

“It seems I am still favored by angels.”

A short distance away, seated at the tea table, Olivia pouted. She’d been enjoying the fight. Using angels was cheating.

A terrified vampire approached her. “What sort of tea would you like, mistress?” he asked.

The Lady of Lurenbraum frowned. Decisions, decisions… She pointed at a dying werewolf that was vainly trying to drag its legless torso away from the carnage, leaving a trail of ichorous blood in its wake. “Some of that, I think.” The vampire scampered away to get Olivia her drink.

Meanwhile, with the aid of Sigarda, the cathars were putting the corrupted howlpack to rout. The last kill went to a young cathar, one of Thalia’s lieutenants. He caught a werewolf in the back with an expertly thrown lance as the monster fled.

There were no celebratory cheers. Instead, the remaining cathars staggered into something resembling a defensive formation. The cathars with shields stood at the front and those without guarded the flanks. 

Olivia, seated at a small table, gave Thalia a polite, lady-like wave and a toothy smile. Her teeth were stained a lurid reddish-blue, the color of the blood of eldrazi-touched horrors. It sent an involuntary shiver down Thalia’s back. The air itself seemed to chill.

“Well-met, Heir of Saint Traft,” Olivia called out. “I’m so glad you could join me for tea.” Olivia gestured to indicate the empty seat across the table from her, place set with a saucer and empty teacup. “Please, have a seat,” she said lightly. She glanced up at Sigarda. “And tell your pet chicken to stop scowling. The poor dear’s face might get stuck like that.”

Thalia looked up to the angel, who was, indeed, scowling.

Could Sigarda defeat Olivia? With a glance, Thalia took stock of her forces. There were too few who remained without serious injury and many needed immediate medical attention. Sigarda was fresh and Thalia knew that she herself could still fight, but, even if they could defend themselves from Olivia’s entire entourage – to say nothing of the Voldaren progenitor herself – the delay would cost too many lives.

But.

If the tales were true, Olivia was nothing if not capricious. Maybe…

“This is a bad time for a tea,” Thalia said. “It’s going to rain soon.”

Olivia tilted her head to the side, as if she were flummoxed. “Nonsense. This is the perfect time for a tea.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Thalia watched as Olivia’s vampires spread out, moving to form a loose circle around her cathars.

When Olivia smiled, she didn’t show teeth. She didn’t need to. “I hope you weren’t planning on leaving,” she said. “That would be rude.” Daintily, holding out her pinky finger, she raised her bloody teacup to her lips and took a sip.

“Safe passage,” Thalia said, words tumbling out of her mouth. “Safe passage for me and my men. They leave now, I’ll stay for tea.”

“Hurt a guest? Why I never!” Olivia sounded genuinely offended – Thalia didn’t believe it in the least. Olivia had a very bad habit of hurting guests. With a wave of her hand though, Olivia recalled her thugs. She then gestured to the empty seat at the table before sparing Sigarda one last glance.

The angel, who had never stopped scowling, looked to have half a mind to stand and fight.

Olivia would have none of it. “You know, Sigarda,” she said conversationally. “The Heir of Saint Traft didn’t include you in her petition.” Olivia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Shoo.”

It was in that moment, as Thalia approached the table and her cathars and Sigarda retreated, that she looked at her life, looked at her choices, and realized she had many regrets.


	4. Geist of Saint Backseat Dater

Tea was a skill for the civilized.

Olivia noted, with much fascinated amusement, that Thalia was anything but civilized.

SLURP.

Thalia set her teacup back down on its saucer with a clack. Tea dripped down her chin. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Across the table, Olivia not-at-all subtly licked her lips.

In the back of Thalia’s head, Traft complained, “ _Why, in my day, every cathar knew how to conduct themselves for tea. It was considered absolutely necessary for-_  
  
Thalia pictured an old man walking to school in the snow on a mountain, uphill both ways.

With an indignant sniff, Traft shut up.

“My, my, dearest Thalia,” Olivia drawled, “You’re so…” She trailed off, letting her eyes close slighting and pulling her mouth into a smirk, “Sanguine.”

Thalia flushed. Olivia closed her eyes inhaled deeply, an expression of purest contentment smoothing her face.

Was that a cue? Thalia picked her tea back up and took a giant sniff. It smelled a lot like grass. Because that’s what tea was. Grass-water.

Traft’s nagging voice returned, “ _Did they teach you nothing at the Elguad Grounds? Snorting tea – why I never_.”

Thalia attempted to glare at Traft. She ended up crossing her eyes. Was that blood on her nose or a new freckle? Innistrad had been even more overcast than usual of late. Maybe she should have used more suncream.

Across the table, it occurred to Olivia to ask herself what exactly she saw in Thalia. Thalia’s crossed eyed stare drew Olivia’s attention to Thalia’s slim nose, flecked with blood and, oh, yes, that was it. Olivia saw blood in Thalia. Delicious blood. Even if the packaging was a little bit… queer.

Thalia cleared her throat. Had her men had enough time to escape? She’d bargained for safe passage, but Olivia was known for being as capricious as she was powerful. The vampires she’d brought with her were standing around the clearing awkwardly doing nothing, but that wasn’t terribly reassuring. Some might have slipped away to chase the other cathars. Thalia needed to buy as much time as she could should the Voldaren progenitor change her mind.

Thalia cleared her throat again. “The weather… is… lovely?” she tried.

Olivia made a sort of humming sound and leaned forward a bit. “A beautiful day,” she said. “I think it suits you.”

Olivia was wearing a very low cut dress.

Very, very low cut.

Thalia gulped. Olivia should really talk to her dressmaker. Surely the Lady of Lurenbraum could afford a few extra yards of silk. Yes. Surely. “I like the weather too,” Thalia squeaked, eyes locked on Olivia’s very low cut dress.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” demanded Traft. “ _Her face is up there!_ ”

Thalia snapped her head up, accidently meeting Olivia’s eyes in the process. The ancient vampire quite resembled a smug cat. “I’m so glad we could finally have tea,” Olivia said.

“Yes,” Thalia said. “Yes. I’m glad too. Very glad.”

“ _Compliment her_ ,” Traft thundered in Thalia’s head.

“You look… good?” Thalia said.

“ _You’re hopeless,_ ” Traft announced.

Olivia leaned back, rearranging herself. Once again, Thalia was confronted with Olivia’s very low cut dress. “Thank you for noticing,” Olivia purred. “I got dressed just for you, you know.”

” _Stop staring,”_ Traft lectured. “ _Women prefer when you play hard to get._ ”

“Excuse you?” Thalia exclaimed.

For once looking genuinely startled, Olivia blinked. “Excuse me?”  
  
Thalia fishmouthed, then raised a finger. “Sorry, I need to talk to Traft for a moment.”

Ah, yes, of course. The geist. Olivia waived a generous hand. “Take your time,” she said. “I’m not getting any older.”

“ _What are you doing?_ ” Thalia mentally demanded.

“ _I’m helping,_ ” Traft said primly.

“ _Stop helping,_ ” Thalia thought firmly.

“ _You need all the help you can get. You are a carriage wreck of the first class,_ ” Traft replied. “ _You look… good?_ ” he parroted. “ _Please. It’s a wonder you’re still single._ ”

“ _You’re just as single as I am_ ,” Thalia thought.

“ _What nonsense,_ ” was Traft’s answer. _“I have you._ ”

Across the table, Olivia sipped her tea and watched Thalia’s face as she went cross-eyed, then un-crossed her eyes, then scrunched up her face in what was most likely utter consternation, then transitioned to some slack-jawed emotion that might have been either disbelief or betrayal.

What fun mortals were!

Meanwhile, in the depths of Thalia’s head, the conversation continued to rage.

“ _I’ll have you know I was very popular with women when I was your age_ ,” Traft informed Thalia. “ _Now be a good girl and tell the pretty vampire you like her dress._ ”

“ _I don’t like her dress!_ ” Thalia protested. “ _And she’s not pretty. She’s evil. Pretty evil._ ”

“ _Yes you do,_ ” Traft said. “ _And yes she is_.”

“ _It’s a terrible and impractical dress!_ ” Thalia said. “ _There are pieces missing! She must get cold!_ ”

“ _I live in your head,”_ Traft pointed out.

Defeated, Thalia managed to get her face back to something resembling a normal human expression as she turned to Olivia. “I like your dress,” she said.

“ _It suits you_ ,” Traft prompted.

“It suits you,” Thalia repeated woodenly. Attempting to strike out on her own, she added, “I like the… poofy… on the collar… the collar poof.”

“Adorable,” Olivia remarked.

“ _Utterly hopeless_ ,” Traft said.

“You know,” Olivia said, “This dress was made for me – of course I look gorgeous in it. But I think I look even better wi-

Thalia stood violently, knocking her chair to the ground. “It’s late!” she said. “Very late. I should go. Don’t message me, I’ll message you.”

Taken utterly by surprise – she’d thought tea had been going quite well – Olivia watched as Thalia snatched up a fallen sword from the ground and then sprinted out of the clearing, in what was very clearly the wrong direction to be getting home.


	5. Thalia, they're lesbians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drive by posting of OOCness* - oh, also, i want to make clear: i *adore* hal and alana and they were one of my favorite parts of innistrad and it made me really, really, really happy that they were happily gay and survived. like. god. hal and alana are examples of why MTG has some of the best game lore out there. that said, i'm lazy and some jokes are just low hanging fruit.

Thalia was very, very lost by the time she remembered that running off alone into a forest in Innistrad in the late evening was generally considered suicidal.

" _You're going to die and I'm going to be a wandering geist again,_ " Traft complained. " _And it will be all your fault. I was having fun._ "

Thalia stabbed her sword down into the ground and sat on a fallen tree. "That makes one of us," she said. She crossed her arms and attempted to glare at herself.

" _Oh pish-posh_ ," Traft replied. " _You were having the time of your life._ "

In the back of Thalia's head, she got the distinct sense that Traft was looking down his geistly nose at her.

" _Your very short life_."

"I just escaped from the most powerful vampire left on Innistrad," Thalia said. "Shouldn't you be happy for me?"

" _I am happy for you,_ " Traft declared. " _I'm happy you finally found someone._ "

"For Traft's sake!" Thalia snapped.

" _Yes?_ " Traft answered.

Thalia dropped her head into her hands, nursing a growing headache. She sighed, loudly, heavily, a sigh of exasperation overwhelming, took a deep breath, paused, and then, "Wait, do you hear that?"

" _Hear what?_ " Traft asked. " _You, being a child?_ "

Thalia said nothing.

All around was silence.

" _That_ ," the cathar thought at her freeloading geist guest.

" _Oh,_ " said Traft. " _The sound of your impending demise. Yes, I hear that._ "

Trying to move quietly, Thalia stood and took up her sword again. The weapon she'd grabbed when she fled the clearing and Olivia was not her own – it was a good deal heavier than the blade she was accustomed to. So long as Traft was with her though, the difference in weight was merely a matter of feel rather than any impediment to use.

Thalia gripped the sword in both hands and shifted into a guard position.

All around her it was dark. It had been near to evening when Thalia ran into the forest and now the sun had dipped down to some distant horizon; within the forest, surrounded by tall trees, there was hardly any light at all.

Traft could create light if Thalia needed him to, but for now she preferred the dark. There was no reason to set out a beacon for trouble if she didn't have to.

Whatever was out there – if there was something out there, maybe after the apocalypse the woods were simply quieter – Thalia judged that it was intelligent. Even dumb animals couldn't move in such complete silence through the forests. Smart animals though…

" _Werewolves, most likely_ ," Traft said. " _Possibly stragglers from the pack you fought earlier_."

Thalia's eyes darted about, trying to piece the deep shadows of the woods. She strained to hear anything at all.

'Werewolves' was probably the optimistic prediction. Thalia and Traft could win against werewolves, so long as it wasn't a full howlpack. She was far more worried about demons or vampires or, far worse, one vampire in particular.

Something moved in the dark.

Thalia spun to face it and Traft, acting according to her unspoken will instead of her conscious thought, threw his blazing power out, causing her to shine with a brilliant blue-white fire that lit the entire clearing.

Whatever it was – human shaped, very human shaped – stumbled backwards. "Fuck!"

"Hal?" a woman called out. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the human, also female, shouted back. "It's a cathar. A glowing cathar."

" _Not werewolves_ ," Traft observed. He dimmed considerably, staying just bright enough to make it easy to see. " _Just lesbians_."

Thalia lowered her sword slightly but not all the way. " _Lesbian werewolves?_ " she silently asked Traft.

" _You should be so lucky_ ," Traft replied dryly. " _You already have a lesbian vampire. I don't know what you'd want lesbian werewolves for_." He paused – and Thalia was very glad she didn't actually know exactly what he was thinking – " _Actually, I suppose I do."_

The woman who'd stumbled into view first, Hal, tucked her axe into her belt and held up her hands to show she was otherwise unarmed. "Easy there," she said. Behind her, the second woman entered the clearing.

The second woman did not lower her short sword in the least. "What are you?" she demanded.

"I am Thalia, Heir of Saint Traft," Thalia said. "Who, exactly, are you?"

Hal tilted her head to the side quizzically. "Well, that would explain the glowing," she said.

The second woman slowly sheathed her weapon. They stood far enough apart that she'd have ample time to draw it again if Thalia seemed about to attack. "I am Alena," she said. "And this is Halana."

Thalia didn't have a sheath for her sword, so she held it loosely at her side. Still somewhat suspicious, she asked, "How did you survive the apocalypse?" If they hadn't, in fact, survived, perhaps she'd catch a lie.

Hal looked at Alena.

Alena looked at Hal.

As one, they smiled and shrugged.

Thalia's eyes narrowed.

That wasn't an answer.

" _Of course that was an answer,_ " Traft said. " _They obviously survived by the almighty power of gay love. You should really try it sometime._ "

" _Will you stop?_ " Thalia thought.

" _What's the magic word?_ " Traft asked.

" _Will you stop – please?"_

Thalia could practically hear Traft grinning smugly in her head. " _No._ "

Hal coughed softly.

Thalia looked up.

"Are you alright?" Hal asked. "You went cross-eyed for a moment…"

Thalia cleared her throat. "I was, ah, communing with the holy spirit," she said. Attempting to change the subject, she asked, "It's getting dark. It's already dark. Are you camped nearby?"


	6. Sorin: Strong, Independant Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lol, whoops, I forgot to work on this for a long time. But then I was listening to the magic story podcast about vampires this morning and I really loved the wallflower pun that Alison Luhrs made and I wanted to write a chapter about it. "It," specifically, being the pun. So here. Here is an entire chapter about a Sorin pun from one of the MTG podcasts.

Being stuck in a wall was downright awful. It was uncomfortable. It was humiliating. And it was boring.

For fuck's sake – boring? That was what was wrong with being stuck in a wall? He was starting to sound like Olivia. And that. _That_ was truly awful.

Sorin grit his teeth and for the thousandth time attempted to wiggle. For the thousandth time, he failed miserably. He could twitch his fingertips and move his mouth and that was it. Something about the stone disrupted his ability to draw on the energy of the plane, much less planeswalk out of his predicament.

Nahiri had thought of everything.

He needed a plan.

This revelation was nothing new. He'd known he'd needed a plan since Olivia and her vampires floated away, abandoning him. How long ago had that been? Days? Weeks? A month? He'd lost track of the rising and the setting of Innistrad's moon.

In all that time he'd yet to free himself. Without any ability to touch the energies of the plane, he was reduced to the strength of his body and his cunning. Both of which were failing him.

And all this left him with only one desperate course of action.

Sorin took as deep a breath as the stone would allow, wet his lips, and – "OLIVIA!"

How many more screams did he have left in him? He was thirsty. He was hungry. He'd been calling for the Voldaren progenitor for days. So far in the wilderness, in the ruins of Markov manor, he doubted anyone could hear him.

But to do nothing? He couldn't bring himself not to try at all.

Sorin waited what he thought to be half a day. He couldn't see the sun, but he could see the way the shadows changed. And then he tried again. "OLIVIA!"

Sorin listened to the empty echoes as the name bounced around the still-floating stones of the ruined house of his grandfather.

And then – or maybe it was just his imagination, the delusions of a starved and broken man.

But. No. There it was.

The clatter of hapless Voldarens trying to keep up with their mad master.

Like the light of salvation, Olivia came floating around a corner, dressed to the nines as always and carrying a basket of flowers. Behind her, jumping from floating rock to floating rock, came a cavalcade of minions, all also carrying loads of flowers.

Wasting no time, Sorin shouted, "Oliva! Get me free!"

Olivia sighed loudly. "Oh hush," she admonished. "My ears work, you know. I'm old but I'm not _that_ old." Coming closer now, Olivia floated to hover naught but two feet away from Sorin. She was clearly pouting.

"Olivia," Sorin tried again, using his indoor voice. "You must help me."

With a wave, Olivia gestured to her basket of flowers. "What do you think I'm doing?" And then she took out one of the flowers and stuck it in Sorin's hair.

Sorin glowered. "I don't know," he replied. "What are you doing?"

In midair, Olivia twirled. "Flower walls for my wallflower," she announced, already upbeat again. And then she tucked a flower into Sorin's lapel. "I just thought – you must be so lonely," she said. "All alone in ugly Markov manor. So I decided to spruce it up."

Dramatically, Olivia raised a hand and snapped her fingers. Behind her, her horde of underlings immediately set about tucking more flowers into the floating rocks surrounding Sorin's prison.

Sorin pushed down on a growl. There was an art to dealing with Olivia. To manipulating her. Snapping at her, no matter how satisfying, was rarely productive. Attempting a disinterested drawl, Sorin said, "And I thought I was bored. Something must have gone terribly wrong for you if you decided to bring me flowers."

Olivia sniffed. "Nothing is wrong," she said, tone indicating that she expected Sorin to know she was lying. With a sudden gusty, she shoved ten more flowers onto Sorin's person.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Sorin went along with it. "Olivia, tell me what's wrong."

Olivia's float lowered half a foot. "Oh Sorin," she said. "It's a _girl_." On ' _girl_ ,' she tucked an enormous hydrangea bloom into Sorin's shirt.

Sorin spluttered. "A girl?"

In the blink of an eye, Olivia's very angry face was very close to Sorin's. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Unable to recoil, Sorin attempted to verbally backpedal. "Oh, no, not at all," he said. "I'm a very progressive vampire."

Olivia backed off. "Oh good," she said. "You never know with some people."

Sorin cleared his throat. "So tell me about this girl," he said. "You know, I'm very good at girl problems."

Olivia raised an eyebrow. She gestured to Sorin, encased in his wall. "Are you now?"

Sorin glared. "Olivia, that was mean."

"Was it?" Olivia replied, not sounding at all guilty.

Sorin sighed. Dealing with Olivia was so much work. But she was the only one on Innistrad who knew where he was and possibly had the power to get him free. So he tried again, "But the girl. What's she like?"

"Oh, she's so strong," Olivia sighed, dreamily. "And attractive. And she smells delicious."

"Mmhm," Sorin hummed encouragingly.

"But she won't come to my tea parties!" Olivia exclaimed. "She's a strong, independent woman who doesn't like tea parties! All strong independent women like tea parties, and everyone who likes tea parties is a strong, independent woman. That's how the world works!"

"You know, Olivia," Sorin said. "I like tea parties. If you let me free of this rock, _I_ would come to your tea parties."

Olivia's eyes narrowed. "Are you a strong, independent woman, Sorin?"

Sorin's eyes narrowed as well. "If I say yes, will you let me out?"

"Maybe," Olivia replied.

"I am a strong, independent woman," Sorin deadpanned.

"Oh that's marvelous!" Olivia announced. "I'll stop by for a tea party sometime."

"Or you could let me out," Sorin suggested.

"Pish-posh," Olivia replied. "Then I would have to track you down when I wanted girl advice." She gave Sorin a knowing look. "You're a very hard man to find when you don't want to be found. It's like you're nowhere on Innistrad sometimes."

"Think of how much more helpful I could be with your girl problem if I were free," Sorin tried. "You and I could go to her right now if-

"Sorin, that's a genius idea," Olivia announced.

"So you'll let me go?" Sorin asked hopefully.

"I'll go to her right now!" Olivia said.

"No, wait, Olivia, let me out!" Sorin shouted.

"What a wonderful friend you are," Olivia said, dumping the rest of her basket of flowers over Sorin's head. She pirouetted in midair and began to float away. "I'll stop by later for tea!"

"Olivia!" Sorin howled at the retreating Voldaren progenitor's back. "Help me! I'm allergic to flowers!"

That got Olivia's attention. She paused, turned slightly. "Nonsense," she declared. "No one is allergic to happiness, not even you."

And then she was gone.

Well shit.


End file.
